Looking for the One and Only

Like most people, I long to have someone close, someone I can always rely on, who relies on me as well, someone who is my best friend and biggest booster, someone to whom I can never fully explain how much I love her, because words aren't enough, it just takes time and examples....someone to whom a "life sentence" is a gift. Idealism/romanticism run rampant, in the imperfect world we live in, I know. I believe in these things in complete disregard for the harsher realities the world is forever trying to distract me with, in the firm conviction that she is there, somewhere, trying as hard to reach me as I am her.

She will recognize the true me, see the inner me for the knight-in-shining-armor/little-boy/cary-grant-in-the-rough I know myself to be. I will see her as the guardian-angel/little-girl/Sophia-Loren-meets-Bridgit-Bardot-as-the-ultimate-sex-kitten she wants me to see her as. We will both overlook the little flaws in our makeup and appreciate the wonder in our one-ness. We will make love with such passion it threatens to burst into flame, while feeding each other chocolate-covered cherries in between sips of scented wine, laying in a tangle of arms, legs and various body parts that blurs where one begins and the other ends. We will communicate in a blend of spoken words and mental telepathy, as one starts a sentence and the other finishes it, instantly knowing fully what we are trying to communicate, clearly and without misunderstanding.

Sadly, the reality will be somewhat different, wrinkles and fumbling attempts and missteps, each of us trying to put forward our best face; somehow the heart will see through the superficial reality, the awkward outside, to the real person inside. That's my version, my dream anyway, of love conquering all...that the inner voice we are all ruled by will ultimately steer us toward what we want. Sometimes, too often, we don't have the good sense to recognize what we are seeking when it arrives, being human and vain, being convinced by Hollywood and TV of what "real" romance is, being human and prone to error, stumbling toward ecstasy like kids blindfolded, trying to pin the tail on the donkey, sometimes hitting the target.

This is the true miracle of being human, of actually connecting with that kindred spirit, that one in a million, who is me/you in every way that counts and you/me in the others, a yin for the yang, a key for the lock that keeps our heart safe from intruders and violators. The very possibility keeps the heart young, keeps the lamp trimmed and burning, in the window, for those who would see, for the one who seeks, for the one.